birth of a poem (for Apryl)

Maui's Blue Moon © Apryl Skies

It comes quietly like a psychiatrist
after night who has left your dream
carrying a shoulder bag of lost events.
It lingers as a shadow falling unusual
across hours that whisper an irritation
of unseen pearls into your floating eye,
revealing the spirits of dead flowers.

A poet would not know what she's going to write.
It comes from far elsewhere than ego or ambition
and wears a flowing cape spun from hieroglyphs.
A poem is first the mood of a ghost within a stone
inside Hypnos's cave near Lethe's waters lapping
rumors of things' forgotten conditions uncanny.

Sometimes a letter comes with unexpected language, written in the ink of wonder on the world's papyrus.
A poet goes into trance to read and then transcribe.

Tim Buck© 2013